Letters
by Dufferooni
Summary: The night didn't start out so great. A patient with an unexplainable prolem, a letter from Stacy laying unopened on his table. And then Wilson had to come and annoy him. Why not? House Wilson friendship. !complete!


**Rating: T (easily) **

**Warnings: None**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House. I don't own _A_ house, either. ... Or a car... I wouldn't mind owning Wilson. That'd be fun. **

**Pairings: Gen. Though if you tilt your head almost until your neck snaps, it could be considered HousexWilson. But, not intended that way. **

**A/N: Done as a way for me to get used to the characters. I hope it's IC. But it was actually my very first fic I wrote for House. I just never posted it. I'll probably do little things like this for Cuddy and the ducklings as well.**

Based like a month or so after Stacy leaves. Enjoy!

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_**Letters**_

It was late, it was dark, and patient files no longer held any interest whatsoever to his sleep deprived brain. Seriously, it was like dragging his eyes over sand. The words were there, but they made no sense and the more he tried to read them, the more his eyes stung with tiredness and the less he took in. Sighing and flipping the file shut, he drained the last of his coffee (which was having no affect on his sleepy brain and body despite it's being full of that wonderfully legal 'wakey-wakey' drug, caffeine) and picked up his bag. Placing it on the table, Wilson commenced slumping around his office, pulling the blinds closed and making sure that everything would be fine when he came in the next morning.

Once that was done, he headed out the door, glancing down the hall to House's office and shaking his head when he saw the light was still on. That was right. There was a patient here and House had yet to diagnose him. Stupid thinking he would go to sleep when someone's life was resting on his shoulders. … More precisely, when a puzzle wasn't solved. Stupid bastard. Sighing and sticking a hand in his lab coat pocket, Wilson made his way to the door and without even a glance or a knock, invited himself in.

"There's this new thing out now that everyone's doing. You might have heard of it, it's called sleep." he commented sarcastically as he entered. House looked up from where he was leaning back in his chair, feet up and crossed on his desk and a patient file open in his lap, not to mention the trademark red and grey ball that he was rolling over his forehead with a hand. Giving Wilson a stare that quite simply said 'you're an idiot', House turned back to his file.

Rolling his eyes slightly, the oncologist shifted his stance so it was a little more 'mother-like'. Not that he thought of it that way, not in the slightest, but that's certainly how it looked to House, who suppressed a smirk and continued staring down at the file. Wilson didn't scare him, and nor did he even mildly intimidate him. At least… not when he was acting like this… Somehow House always beat a hasty retreat when ole' Jimmy _was _in a bad mood, which was very rare.

"Sorry, Jimmy. Work to do. Sleep is overrated."

"Yeah, sure, it just makes you function. Allows you to not go insane. Certainly basis for calling it overrated, indeed." Wilson commented as he settled into a chair beside House's desk. The diagnostician leaned his head back and attempted to balance the ball on his nose as his forehead creased in thought.

"What makes a twenty two year old man, suddenly start bashing his head against a wall?"

"Something in his-"

"Not in his head. Did an MRI, nothing there."

"Maybe… he was hallucinating?" Wilson suggested, shrugging a little. House's mouth curved downward in an annoyed frown. The answer was right there, but his puzzle pieces were refusing to fit, and therefore the answer was unreachable.

"I was in the room. His eyes were clear, and he was responsive. He just couldn't stop hitting his head on that wall…"

"Maybe he thought the room was too small?" Wilson suggested, earning himself a wry glance from House, "Come on, House. Go home. Sleep. The case will still be there tomorrow… unless… he bashes his head through the window and escapes." House snorted derisively, a smirk curling the corner of his mouth and making Wilson smirk slightly in response. He was one of the rare few who could make House smile, for real. That came from spending too much time around the snarky bastard, he guessed.

"He doesn't have cancer, no viral infections, no diseases…" House listed, more as if he were musing to himself than anyone else.

"Maybe… you're complicating things too much? Maybe it's Lupus?" Wilson once again was being sarcastic, but the sarcasm was lost as House's bright blue eyes suddenly became distant and a look of dawning apprehension crossed his face.

"You've got the answer, haven't you?" Wilson commented, and his guess was confirmed as House grabbed his cane, lowered his right leg hastily but gently to the floor and then sped as fast as a limping twerp could, from the room. Getting to his feet, Wilson paused as something on House's desk caught his attention. Frowning slightly, he picked it up and frowned even further when he saw the letter was both unopened… and from Stacy. He was not a curious man by nature, seeing as usually House would come running to him like a little kid to his parent, just to tell him about these sorts of things. He didn't mind so much, if only House didn't nearly break his doors down when he practically scrambled into the room because his brain was full to bursting with theories on life. Idly, he picked the letter up and scanned his eyes over the familiar handwriting of his best-friend's ex.

House's name was almost scratched into the paper, which made Wilson instantly think that she had been angry while writing this. No surprise there, not after the way House had let her go like he had. But then he couldn't deny he felt a certain sense of anger towards Stacy for leading House on the way she had. It had been stupid, irresponsible, and it had made him even more angry because he himself had done that to his own wife. And he didn't think he could tolerate one of his friends doing that to their spouse. Then there was the whole thing of, if Stacy had been the one to break it off, then Wilson would've been stuck picking House up all over again.

He didn't think the diagnostician could take another crash to his heart like the one Stacy had given him, and both he, and Wilson, were reminded of it every day when caustic guy came limping down the hall. Sighing, he turned the letter over and noted the corner at the edge of the letter had been bent over and back again, many many times. In other words, House had been toying with the idea of opening it, but hadn't gotten around to it. …Or hadn't wanted to… He looked up as he heard the shuffling of his friend returning and like a kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar, Wilson panicked for a second before quickly placing the letter down again. If House wanted to talk, he'd talk, and there was no way Wilson would be able to push the answer out of him.

"Find out what's wrong?"

"You still here?" House griped as he moved in, leaning more heavily on his cane than what he had when he'd moved out just before. No answer then...

"I'm waiting for room service." the oncologist shrugged, but House didn't respond as he sat down in his chair again.

"It's a twitch…" the doctor said as he leaned back and closed his eyes, "He can't control the urge and slash or desire to whack his head against the wall." Wilson didn't make a comment, knowing that all he could do right now, was stand here and let House muse out loud to him. And he'd been SO ready for bed… Oh well. Settling himself in his seat again, James waited.

"A twitch would mean something in his brain wasn't functioning correctly."

"Then wouldn't Foreman have picked it up?" Wilson inquired, frowning slightly. House didn't reply for a long time, instead sitting silent and still. So much so, that James almost thought he'd fallen asleep.

"No… because it's not IN his brain. It's somewhere else…" House's blue eyes opened slowly and stared up at the ceiling as he fished in the pocket of his jacket for his Vicodin.

"Something in the muscles of his neck?" the oncologist suggested and House nodded slowly, before leaning forward and scooping up the letter from Stacy.

"It's bizarre, isn't it?" he said, his tone taking on a much quieter note. Wilson blinked, then shrugged a little. He should have known better than to think that House wouldn't know he'd looked. The older man had a weird sort of psychic sense. That and he knew his best buddy inside out. 12 years would do that. Then again, it was late, and it looked like House's leg was playing up badly again. Meaning his mind wouldn't be _quite _as sharp. So…

"A little. How did you know I'd looked?"

"You just told me you did." House looked up with an infuriatingly smug smirk, "The human mind is designed to be curious about things which we know little about. The only way we don't give a damn about something, is to not know about it." Wilson raised an eyebrow. That theory was… stupid, to say the least. Also was completely wrong, which meant that House was just saying something to shut him up. But, the problem with theories being stupid, and wrong in the eyes of 'Righteous Jimmy', usually made sense in reality. Which meant overall, that whole explanation made Wilson roll his eyes with a mildly dramatic sigh. Fine then. Whatever. He wouldn't argue.

"You're philosophical tonight." he returned easily, picking up also on the slightly accusing underlying message that explanation had had. His next question was voiced in a much softer tone, "Are you going to read it?" House eyed the letter silently, before looking up with a minute flash of sadness that Wilson only just managed to catch before it was covered with the usually grouchy expression Greg wore like a shield.

"… No." he replied, before tossing the letter at Wilson who fumbled for a second with it before finally managing to grasp it, "You read it."

"What's the point in that?" Wilson objected, not wanting to be the mediator _again_.

"If _you _read it, then _I _won't have to."

"Oh, brilliant logic considering the letter is addressed to you!" Wilson retorted. The two stared at each other unwaveringly, cold blue glaring into warm brown. The first to back down, as always, was Wilson. He sighed heavily and let his head flop back against the wall behind him.

"Fine." he grouched as he started opening the letter. No, he didn't need sleep. Tch, damn House. Pulling the letter from the opened envelope, his eyebrows furrowed when the page was blank except for one sentence at the top.

_Sorry to keep you up late, James. _

Wilson blinked, before he snorted softly to himself, shaking his head. House's eyes narrowed gently. Why wasn't Wilson reading? Or frowning? The guy was _smiling_!

"What's it say?" the older man half snapped, making a grab for the letter. Jerking it away with a shrug, Wilson folded it up and stuck it deftly in his pocket.

"It wasn't for you, after all." he smiled a little and House blinked, thoroughly lost at sea.

"It had my name on it." the diagnostician frowned, before slowly realisation dawned on him and slowly, ever so slowly, a smile pulled at the corners of his lips. He leaned his head back, grabbing the red and grey ball and tossing it into the air.

"You wanna talk?" Wilson asked, already knowing the answer.

"Nope!" House replied with an air of one who had just figured out a difficult, but wonderfully fun puzzle. The two looked at each other, before Wilson snorted again, trying to hide his laughter behind a hand. Grinning a little, the older man tossed the ball into the air once more before grunting and getting to his feet.

"Let's go bowling." he announced, starting to limp from the room and causing any trace of laughter from Wilson to dry up in a heartbeat.

"It's… one in the morning!" the oncologist practically squeaked after a short glance at his watch. House turned to him and grinned, leaning on his cane with both hands.

"That's what makes it fun." With that, the older man was gone and all Wilson could do was roll his eyes and follow, tucking Stacy's letter further into his pocket. House was House, and there was nothing he _could _do to change that. As much as he tried. ... And he wasn't entirely sure he wanted him to change either... Smiling as they walked out into the night, he chanced a short glance at his friend. Nope... judging by that smile and the sly look tossed in the oncologist's direction, House wasn't going to change at all.

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**A/N: Hope you liked it. More importantly, I hope it was IC. And as to the medical knowledge. Yeah, that was there to just fill up the gap to when they talk about the letter. -shrug- I don't actually know if it's real or not, or if it could happen for those vague reasons. Sorry! Hope you liked it anyway. **


End file.
